The 167th Hunger Games
by koolchic4
Summary: Let the 167th Hunger Games begin! This is my first fanfic, so please let me know what you think! :
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Hey, readers! This is my first fanfic, so please read and review! All comments are welcome!**

***DISCLAIMER***** The Hunger Games does not belong to me (duh). It belongs to the talented Suzanne Collins.**

The 167th Hunger Games

Chapter 1

POV-Sandra Hall

"Wake up, Sandra! The reaping is today! We have to get ready!" yells my sister, Adrienne.

"Okay! Okay! I'm not deaf, you know…" I grumble, unwillingly rolling myself off of my bed. I brush my light brown hair; it is slightly wavy and just reaches my shoulders. I put on my reaping clothes, a fitted red blouse and a grey pencil skirt. When I get to the kitchen, I see my dad at the stove, while my siblings eat toast.

"Hey, Dad," I say, hugging my dad.

"Morning, honey" he responds, handing me a plate with some toast and a bit of sausage. "Don't eat too slowly. We don't want to be late for the reaping. That means you too, Adrienne"

"Sure, Dad," Adrienne and I chorus. I savor the sausage and feel grateful that I live in a middle-class merchant family. Here, in district 12, not many can afford the price of eating everyday, let alone eating meat. Another good thing about being from a merchant family is that I don't have to take out tesserae, so my name is only in the reaping balls the required number of times.

"Come on, girls!" calls my dad. "We have to go now!" Adrienne and I wolf down the rest of our breakfast and walk out the door. We jog the rest of the way to the square and check in. Adrienne hugs me and goes to the 13-year-old section. I head to the 17-year-old section. I glance around me and catch my best friend, Lucy's eye. I mouth "good luck" to her and she responds "you too".

"Hello, District 12!" chirps our Capitol escort. "Sasha Bauble, here! I have a delightful video for you all! It's from the Capitol!" As the video plays, I take a look at Sasha's clothing. With her bright green hair, brilliant blue dress, magenta and orange argyle leggings and seven-inch metallic stilettos, she looks absolutely ridiculous. If somebody told me that her four-year-old daughter dressed her, it wouldn't seem too ridiculous.

While watching the video, I think back to my first reaping. I was scared stiff and had been crying for 10 hours straight. My mother had held me and rocked me through the night. Both of our eyes were red, and we had dark circles under our eyes. She had given me a pretty pin to put in my hair. After the reaping I had jumped into her arms, and she had kissed me over and over again. That was before she died. I still remembered that horrible day, as if it were only yesterday. We had been in the shop selling fabric and ribbons, when, across the street, an argument broke out. A drunken Peacekeeper had been trying to get a little girl to give him blueberries for free. When she refused, he twisted her arm behind her back; hard enough to make her eyes tear up. My mother had been furious. She marched right up to the Peacekeeper and slapped him as hard as she could. Then he shot her. With a subtle movement of his finger, he had shattered my world. Just like that. I had changed that day; I didn't smile or laugh for more than a year. It was like my body had forgotten how to be happy. Slowly, I had gotten over it, bit by bit. One day, I was even able to eat a blueberry, without crying. My father helped, teaching me how to tie knots in the beautiful ribbons. He eventually taught me to use rope and wire to make snares, which I put in the woods.

When the video finishes, Sasha claps so hard that one of the many pins in her hair falls out.

"Now, to choose a very lucky young woman!" she says. She teeters over to the glass ball on her left of the stage. "Shawna Morris!" she calls. "Where is Ms. Shawna Morris? Yoo hoo!" We watch as a crippled twelve-year-old girl hobbles up to the stage, tightly gripping a roughly hewn cane. Everybody stands somberly, as a Peacekeeper helps her up the stairs. Running through my head is the thought that it should be against all laws to send such a young child and a crippled one, at that.

Before I fully process what is happening, I feel my legs step forward and my voice call out, "I volunteer!" The crowd silently parts as I walk up to the stage.

"Ooh, ladies and gentlemen, we have a volunteer!" trills Sasha. "What is your name, my dear?"

"Sandra Hall," I state clearly.

"Well then, let's give our female tribute for the 167th Hunger Games a round of applause!" she says, enthusiastically. The only people that clap are she, herself and the mayor. The rest of the population stands silently, their faces somber, eyes full of hatred for the Capitol.

_Did I just volunteer to be a _tribute_? Am I trying to get myself killed?_ I think to myself. _Well, I couldn't just let poor little Shawna go! She wouldn't stand a chance at making it through _training _let alone the Games themselves._

In my internal conflict, I hardly notice as Jackson Mace, a boy in the grade above me, is reaped. I barely realize that we shake hands and I stumble into the Justice Building to say goodbye to my friends and family. I awake from my stupor to find Adrienne hugging my tightly and my dad sitting next to me on a plush couch.

"No! Don't go, Sandra!" sobs Adrienne. She squeezes me even tighter. "You can't die!"

"Hey, now! Who said anything about dying?" I ask, trying desperately to console my little sister. She brightens up at the idea that I might be able to come home. She turns and faces me, her forehead tense with determination.

"You will come home. You will train very hard and learn all of the survival skills you can. But most of all, you will win!" Adrienne says. Slapping my hand with each syllable. "Okay? Promise me, now. Swear that you will do everything in your power to survive and come home!" I sigh. I hate breaking promises.

"Okay. I promise I will win these games." I say. My father taps my shoulder.

"Listen, Sandra. The Games will change you. You will be tempted to do things that, normally, you would never even consider. Don't. Stay true to yourself. Stay true to your morals. And remember, we will be rooting for you," says my father in a low urgent voice. He pulls me into a hug. Adrienne joins in. We sit like this for a few minutes, until two burly Peacekeepers tell us that time is up. On the way out of the door, my sister blows me a kiss and my father puts both hands over his heart, our way of saying 'I love you'.

I say goodbye to a few girls from school, but I don't really hear what they say. All I register is a group of sobbing girls who all hug me multiple times. When they are finally escorted out, I steel myself and follow the Peacekeepers to the train station. I've got a promise to keep.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Hey, readers! Sorry for not updating for a super long time! All comments are welcome!**

***DISCLAIMER* Once again, the Hunger Games does not belong to me (duh). It belongs to the talented Suzanne Collins.**

The 167th Hunger Games

Chapter 2

POV-Artemis Seth

As I flex my aching fingers, I survey the damage I have done to the dummies surrounding me. My mouth tilts up in a smirk. I am satisfied. The room is covered in fake blood that has spurted from the dummies' various wounds; some have knives sticking out of the place where their hearts and necks would be and others have been destroyed well beyond recognition.

"Well?" I question. This is directed to the muscular man standing in the corner. He has watched my performance without a single sound. Three resounding claps break the silence, and I know I have done well.

"Well done, Artemis, he commends, smiling a rare smile. "District 1 has a good chance of winning these Games, if you ask me." I smile. Mark's words of praise come few and far between, but they are always well deserved.

"Thanks, Mark," I say with an indifferent shrug, feigning nonchalance. He smirks.

"Look, Artemis, I've told you this before, and I will tell you again: You suck at lying!" he says. He makes sure to enunciate each syllable and it makes me cringe. He knows me well. Too well.

"Whatever," I say. "Stupid know-it-all." All of my attention is focused on hiding the blush that threatens to color my cheeks.

"You little…you had better go get ready for the reaping," he says, motioning at the state of my hair and bloodied clothes. I scowl but walk out of the gym and head to my room. Once I am there, I shower and brush out my long black hair until it is shiny and smooth. I put on a black sporty jacket and some stretchy black pants that I typically wear when I train. I don't really see the reason to look nice, because I know I don't need the looks to get sponsors; I have the skill. Anyway, there will be plenty of time to look nice after I win the Games.

I make sure to be one of the last to get to the square so that I can make sure everybody sees me. The idiotic Capitol woman climbs onto the stage. She is completely orange and she has had silver swirls tattooed all over her body. Her bright green hair and dress clash magnificently with her skin. Her name is Lux Goldberg. Along with Lux, Mayor Blackthorn sits amidst a crowd of Victors. Then Lux begins her speech. As she rambles on, I finger my district token. It is a leather bracelet. My mother had a jeweler make it from the leather of my first cat-o'-nine-tails.

As soon as Lux dips her taloned hand into the female reaping ball, I know the time to act is now.

"I volunteer," I firmly state. I walk up to the stage with my head held high and do everything I can to project confidence.

"Lovely! A volunteer! What is your name, honey?" Lux asks, putting an orange arm around me. I ignore my impulse to gag.

"Artemis Seth," I say.

"Well then, District 1, lets give Artemis a warm welcome!" Lux twitters. The whole District claps enthusiastically. I smile.

"And the male tribute is…. Dart Reynolds. A small fourteen-year-old boy starts walking up to the stage when a strong voice calls out, "I volunteer as tribute."

I turn to see my fellow trainee, Onyx Blayde, striding up to the stage from the eighteen-year-old section. His blue eyes are clear and as blue as the sky. They meet mine for a second, before he turns to address Lux.

"What a fine-looking gentleman! What's your name?" questions Lux, batting her green, jeweled eyelashes.

"My name is Onyx Blayde," he says. He smiles, and I can practically see the Capitol women swooning in front of their televisions. He's sure to get a lot of sponsors.

"Well then Onyx and Artemis, please shake hands!" declares Lux. Onyx's much larger hand encloses mine. It is warm and slightly calloused. We are led to our rooms with the District's applause ringing in our ears.

My first visitor is Damien, my brother.

"Hey, how are you?" he asks.

"Fine, but I'm dreading what my stylists are going to do to me," I say, confidently. He smiles slightly.

"You could win this, you know," he says quietly.

"That's the plan," I say. He glares because he knows that I am mocking him.

"But seriously, Artemis, don't underestimate your opponents. It could be the death of you," he says. "I bet Mom and Dad would be proud of you right now."

"Damien! We don't care about them, right? You shouldn't care about what they think of us," I burst out. I think back to when Damien and I were young, living with our parents' sixteen other children. Our parents wanted to donate children to the Capital for experimentation. I ran away with Damien, my closest sibling, after Flick warned me about our parents' intentions; she was sent to the Capital a week later. I took Damien to the Academy, where we were taken in, provided we help clean the equipment. We worked hard and trained harder. Neither of us likes to remember those times. I have held a grudge against our parents ever since and will never forgive them for what they did to us.

I look into Damien's black eyes with my green ones and grab his rough hands tightly. I nod and pull him to me. He hugs me hard, and we pull away when a Peacekeeper opens the door.

"Good luck," he says.

"See you in the Victory Tour," I say with a grin, returning to my confident state. The rest of my hour is filled with girls who claim to be my best friend coming up to me and hugging me. Then, the person I've been waiting for finally arrives.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't little Ms. Confident," says Mark, shaking his head slightly. We embrace. "Be careful out there, okay?"

"Mark! I'm a Career! I'm supposed to hunt, not constantly look over my shoulder!" I say. It's frustrating that everyone keeps treating me like I'm some Bloodbath.

"Listen, just because they're from an outer district, doesn't mean that they are not a threat," he says.

"Ugh, Mark! I have nothing to fear from some lower district weaklings. Most of them probably haven't even touched anything remotely shiny in their lives. When they see all those beautiful weapons, they'll probably faint or something!" I rant. Mark lets me finish and sits quietly for a minute. Then, as he gets up from the plush sofa he plants a kiss on my lips and drops a piece of paper on my lap. Seconds later, he is gone. I smile softly until a Peacekeeper comes to escort me to the train. I hastily pocket the small slip of paper, wondering what it is. I wipe the smile off my face, and it is replaced with a determined glare.


End file.
